The Passing of Time
by Veronica Barton
Summary: My theory regaurding Rambaldi and his connection to Vaughn's broken watch!!! **SPOILER**
1. He

THE PASSING OF TIME  
  
  
  
~ By Lanabana  
  
~ Of course I don't own ALIAS, if I DID there definitely wouldn't have been a re-run on last Sunday night!  
  
~ SPOILER WARNING: This fanfic was inspired by a spoiler, its brief one but I have turned it into a theory, just want to warn you!  
  
~ I'm not sure how many chapters I will end up with but my theory takes place in three different sections. PAST, PRESENT, and FUTURE. And although I have done some research for this story, I am no expert on the region or several topics, so it is truly FICTION! I'm going to take it nice and slow so as not to confuse you OR myself! Here it goes---  
  
  
  
~PAST~  
  
1444 AD.  
  
The sun split the sky into a million colors, as it rose over the hills surrounding the village of Parma, Italy. The air was cool and calm, like the village below that was just beginning to show signs of life.  
  
And high on the hill, set apart from the things of this world, stood a humble monastery. The chants of the worshippers within could be heard for miles around, as their celestial song echoed throughout the entire valley.  
  
Nothing seemed to set this particular day apart from any other normal, boring day. The sellers sold, the buyers bought, the teacher's taught and so on and so on.  
  
But then without warning, a desperate cry filled the air and the world seemed to stop.  
  
Silence.  
  
All turned their heads upwards, up the hill to the monastery, where the simple cry turned to screams and the hollow sound of someone beating on wood, then silence.  
  
After an appropriate amount of curiosity, the villagers went back to their normal routine, unwilling to admit that it WASN'T a normal day; that perhaps this day would change every normal day to come.  
  
So time passed on, as did the villagers in their chosen ignorance, praying that what wasn't discussed would somehow just not be.  
  
But what would be came anyway, and it came in the form of a baby that was soon orphaned after his mother died giving him life on the front steps of the monastery. Her only gift to her newborn babe was life and a name, Milo Rambaldi.  
  
After a time, everyone was quite relieved to see that the community's new addition seemed as normal as could be. In fact, the harmless baby boy captured the hearts of all who saw him, with his piercing green eyes and cute little dimpled chin.  
  
His flawlessness was his only flaw. He never cried, or smiled, he just was. He possessed an unearthly calmness, that while many praised outwardly they also questioned inwardly, never forgetting the strange sensation that seized them upon his abnormal arrival.  
  
So, while everyone seemed to adore him, none would adopt him, for that didn't seem normal at all.  
  
By default, he was raised by the Vespertine monks, the same souls that brought him into this world. Not being used to the lifecycles of childhood, the monks didn't seem too concerned with Mill's lack of liveliness. And perhaps his state would have gone unnoticed until his dying day had it not changed so drastically, so suddenly, and so unexpectantly.  
  
For some unknown reason, to anyone who cared to know, and who wouldn't for the change was so obviously unnormal, on April 7th, 1447, Milo Rambaldi seemed to have a rebirth.  
  
It was a difference like night and day. From the very second he woke up he seemed to be a completely different child.  
  
It started with a smile, and then he proceeded to say his first word. By the end of the day he had said his first sentence, as well as properly identified every primary color along with their children. He had verbally labeled several everyday objects, such as ball, musicbox, and clock.  
  
It was all so out of the ordinary that his every activity was written down. None could explain it, but all of the sudden they seemed to have genius on their hands. And their belief was proven in the years to come, when young Milo quickly passed all normal children his age in every subject.  
  
He was an amazing artist, and many hired him to draw their portraits. He an especially gifted craftsman, always tinkering about, making gadgets and inventions. But his specialty was clocks, breaking them, fixing them, making them, he was obsessed with time, and it's passing.  
  
None could explain, although many tried. They can't be blamed really, how were they to know that the catalyst for Milo's change was a world away from their own little world. They were scarcely aware that there was such a place.  
  
Who would have guessed that he would come alive the very moment of her birth? They would never have guessed, never have even thought to ask the question. It was all too strange, so they just learned to accept it and call it a blessing.  
  
And so time passed on.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	2. She

THE PASSING OF TIME  
  
~ By Lanabana  
  
~~ I am studying the Russian language this year, and I would love nothing more than to wow you with some actual Russian dialogue, but alas the letters look extremely different from our alphabet, therefore it is not possible, hope you have a big imagination!~~  
  
~~ Also I'd just like to say, that my theory is a bit muddled in my mind, but I desperately want to get it out there, so my plot may have some holes, please take it for the FICTION that it is~  
  
~~ and please READ and REVIEW, its HELPS me IMROVE!!!~~  
  
  
  
  
  
~~PAST (cont.)~~  
  
Milo grew older, learning all he could, outgrowing his surroundings and the company he was keeping. They were too lively, too focused on the everyday; he had higher thoughts and loftier goals.  
  
And time passed on.  
  
A world away, in the land of the Rus, lived an oppressed people. For almost 200 years they had fought to survive, physically, mentally; they had long ago given up on the knowledge of education. They were weary, to the point of despair.  
  
Millions had been ruined because of the Mongol invasion and it along with its effects were lasting much longer than anyone's worst nightmare.  
  
Thoughtfully, none had been left out. Every family had suffered some horrible victimization; unfortunately, some suffered more than others, one family in particular.  
  
The Derevkos had been a well-known, well-to-do, well-loved family in their region of the river. They were a large extended family of ship merchants who were exceedingly honest, compassionate, and giving. So naturally when the Mongols invaded the young unorganized country, they had to make examples out of such prominent citizens as the Derevkos.  
  
They seized their home, murdered the men, and had their way with the women, which resulted in several suicides as well as illegitimate and orphaned children. When the Mongols finished destroying the Derevko family, they moved on to the next leaving only a few broken souls and a last name.  
  
Those who remained, pulled themselves together, and desperately tried to rebuild their community. But a bitterness was born, a distrust, a loss of innocence, that continued from generation to generation, like a snowball effect, gaining power and strength with each generation.  
  
They had a thirst for freedom, something they had always taken for granted. Not now, now it was a prized possession, an end that justified ANY means. This passion within them grew more deadly each time a Mongol leader would return to "remind them who was boss." But so far their hatred was only talk, no action, but their talk was action enough, because it effectively produced a people ready for revolution.  
  
Particularly in the hearts of the Derevko women, especially since they felt the pain most forcefully, oh they were quiet and submissive, but their silence was deadly and one day would be awakened; as they say "Hell hath no furry like a woman scorned!"  
  
And time passed on.  
  
And on April the 7th, 1447 AD a new hope was born into the Derevko family. Her name was Sophia, and she soon became the pride of the entire community. From the moment of her birth, she seemed to posses an inward light, such a joyful little bundle, too lovely for the horrible world she was born into.  
  
Sophia was growing into a beautiful young woman. At fifteen she was already tall and lean, soft yet strong, kind yet cunning, she was the best of every wonderful human characteristic. Her outward beauty only highlighted her inward beauty.  
  
She had deep brown eyes; long wavy caramel colored hair, full rose colored lips, and high cheekbones. She looked very much like a princess, like nobility, she carried herself with such grace, spoke with such wisdom and kind calmness. When she smiled the sun grew brighter.  
  
Even her greatest flaw was noble. She wanted to "know" everything, but realized her own poor family was greatly lacking in knowledge and would never be able to rise to the challenge.  
  
She was reminded of this fact almost everyday; bitterness was the only subject taught. It was truly a miracle of God that she had stayed as optimistic as she had, for as long as she had. In truth, her presence began to change the hearts of all who met her; they began to see glimmers of hope. But she would soon know first hand the taste of the bitterness that held her people captive.  
  
It had been more than ten years since a Mongolian monster had visited the Derevko family, so naturally they were FAR overdue. Sophia saw her precious parents murdered right before her eyes, and then she went blank, conveniently blocking out every other horrible act going on around her.  
  
When she came back to reality, she found herself on a strange bed, in a strange room that was elaborately decorated. She had been taken captive, and one look out the window revealed that her new home was in the city of Kiev.  
  
She was now the "wife" of a prominent Mongolian general. She bid her time, and took full advantage of his affection for her, eventually gaining access to his limited library. He foolishly trusted her, she was truly brilliant.  
  
She had tasted bitterness, she ate it everyday, but there was another flavor too, one she could not identify, there was not a word to describe it. It was deep passion, a desire to free not only herself but her people as well. Other women were in her position, but they had simply given up, surrendered to hopelessness.  
  
Not Sophia, somehow she knew she had a great advantage, she was in the perfect place to instigate change. She wasn't sure how she would do it but she knew she would, if she had to she would bring the Mongols down from with. So she patiently waited, preparing herself for the day she could bring the tyrants to their knees!  
  
And time passed on.  
  
  
  
TBC 


	3. Theypart 1

The Passing of Time  
  
  
  
~ by Lanabana  
  
~ This is my own interpretation of characters created by JJ, however I have created some of my own for my master plan!  
  
~ In this chapter I refer to "Giovanni Donato" he was a brief character from the first season who was skilled in fixing Rambadli's clocks, he let it slip that Rambaldi had promised him an unusually long life, I have drawn my own conclusions in connection to s SPOILER that says Vaughn tells Syd his watch his dad gave him stopped the day he met her.  
  
~ Once again I am fictionalizing actual Russian history that I have studied in school, most of it is true except for Milo and Sophia, and any mistakes I make (shocking I know, yet possible) but I have tried to stick to the facts.  
  
~ Okay this WAS going to be the last PAST chapter but it started to be like TEN pages long, so I'm separating it, its kind'a scary actually because this story is starting to take over and tell itself! So sorry its taking so long, but this part is the whole POINT of the FUTURE chapters!  
  
  
  
~ PAST (cont.) ~  
  
Time passed by both Milo and Sophia. Time does that you know, no matter where one lives, or when one lives, time always lives longer.  
  
Milo became a young, restless man, arrogantly knowledgeable. He had no deep passion nor conviction; he was simply a genius, aimlessly searching for meaning.  
  
For all his brilliance he thoughtlessly had a brief romance with the mayor's daughter, Alicia. To rescue her reputation her parents quickly married her off to one of Milo's best friends, Giovanni Donato. Other than his only flaw (his friendship with Milo, who had taught him all he knew about clocks, and how to fix some of his own creations) he seemed as normal as can be, something that couldn't have pleased Alicia's parents more.  
  
In truth, Milo was thrilled, for 8 months later Alicia gave birth to a handsome baby boy with bright green eyes and a familiarly dimpled chin. But she was married, and he was free, free to leave, so that's just what he did.  
  
By the time he was 18 the Pope had heard of Milo's brilliance, and extended an invitation for him to come and live in the Vatican, where he could continue his personal studies and perfect his craftsmanship.  
  
Before he left his humble village, he returned to his favorite spot. It was nestled deep in the valley, where a soothing stream rippled through the middle of a quiet clearing. On the bank stood a small rock formation. The tiny tower served as a sundial that had mesmerized him as a small boy. Here was the birth of Milo's great curiosity with clocks and time.  
  
Mount Sabasio was known for its beautiful peak, as well as its glorious sunsets, but Milo was fairly certain he was the only one who believed his secret spot was the true "beauty of Mt. Sabasio." It had a calming effect that caused one to sit and ponder, and if unable to draw any astounding conclusions, the tower would point their eyes upward to the source of all unanswered questions, or at least that's what the Monks had told him.  
  
He tucked his childhood memories safely away for later use, and began to collect new ones, in a place vastly different from the tiny town of Parma. Rome was alive, spiritually, politically, and most important to Milo, educationally.  
  
When he arrived, the Pope had given him a leather journal as a gift, proof that even the Pope isn't perfect and is in need of Christ's grace, he can't be blamed really. How was he to know the bazaar ideas Milo would begin to write down on the innocently pure white sheets of paper?  
  
Milo started as a simple observer absorbing all he could; he painted portraits and created trinkets, and was the talk of the town. It was talking that he loved best, and he did, with every brilliant mind he could find. He wasn't loud or obnoxious just genuinely curious and overly eager to know everything.  
  
This became his greatest pastime, there was nothing he wouldn't do to please those he wanted to know and learn from. He was obsessed with learning and creating theories, no matter how bazaar they appeared to be, and they soon became VERY bazaar.  
  
So as brilliant people often do, Milo soon became eccentric, quiet and wild- eyed; reclusive in his laboratory, consumed with his creations. He became obsessed with proving himself to his peers, to prove that the rumors about him weren't true, that he wasn't insane but truly ingenious.  
  
And time passed on.  
  
Time, he wanted to stop it, the great unstoppable power. He wanted to freeze time, and stay young and brilliant forever. He wanted to reverse time, to start over, or visit the past and discover who he truly was, find an explanation for his madness. He wanted to make time obsolete, to be its master, to be infinitely immortal - like God.  
  
  
  
~~ Meanwhile ~~  
  
Sophia was biding her time as the wife of a chief Mongolian oppressor. Many were confused by her outwardly pleasant and loving attitude towards her captor. Fellow oppressed Russians believed she was a traitor, and her captors believed she was the picture perfect wife.  
  
But there is much more to a picture than what meets the eye. Behind a pretty painting is an intricately woven canvas, hidden and often forgotten; once the rain falls and the storm blows, causing the oils melt away, its strength and endurance is revealed.  
  
Sophia was earning the trust of her enemies, and in doing so learning their secrets and weaknesses. She had even given birth to a beautiful baby girl; she named her Anastasia, which means "Resurrection." Stasia was Sophia's hope for the Resurrection of her Russian people, and her own salvation from a life of lies and deception.  
  
The two were inseparable; the only genuine source of love in the house was between mother and daughter. But Sophia's love was filtered through fear, fear for her daughter's safety, sanity, and sense of self. Unknowingly Sophia, passed down her fear, accompanied by feelings of distrust and bitterness, hidden well behind a mask of happiness, not a healthy heritage to inherit.  
  
But time passed on.  
  
Stasia was growing quickly into a clever young lady. She rivaled her mother in beauty and had the advantage of a secret education. She was a silent observer of the game her mother played with her unknowing father.  
  
They were all smiles in public, but secretly, her husband grew suspicious. His wife had become, by far, the most beautiful woman for hundreds of miles, many men had noticed and he was insanely jealous. He grew violent at times and took out his frustration on Sophia. After a while she allowed herself to cry only on the inside, she refused to get emotionally attached to a man she swore she would one day destroy.  
  
She longed for the day she would be free, at night she would dream of the future, wishing its arrival to come quickly. Sometimes she wished she could start over from the moment of her abduction, she wished she had fought harder.  
  
But she knew the truth, that truth itself takes time. She couldn't change the past, and she couldn't make the future arrive any faster. No, she would simply have to stand the test of time.  
  
She prayed to a god she didn't know, to save her from the hell she was in. She ached for her daughter, for her safety in the household of monsters. And she waited, patiently for salvation to come.  
  
And one day when she wasn't looking it came, her husband's fist hit her in just the right place on her face, and the last thing she saw was her terrified daughter leaning over her with tears streaming down her cheeks.  
  
When her eyes fluttered open she looked up to see what she thought must be an unearthly being. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, and was touching her cheek softly.  
  
"Hello" said the angel, "My name is Daniel, you're safe."  
  
She forced her eyes to glance past him to the area surrounding her; she wasn't at home, and yet she was. It was like the home of her youth; it was damp and dirty, and warm and welcoming all at the same time. She tried to sit up, but struggled and allowed Daniel to help her.  
  
"Thank you" she mumbled, then panicked "my daughter, where's my daughter?"  
  
"I'm here mother," she felt loving arms surround her.  
  
"Where are we? Have we died and gone to Heaven!?!" She weakly attempted humor.  
  
Daniel informed her that both she and her daughter had been found lying lifeless in a field not far from the house. Apparently, in a drunken rage her husband had had his fill of them both and ordered them out of the house and left for dead.  
  
This news did not set Sophia at ease, for she knew that once her husband regained his senses his insane jealousy and selfishness would want her back in his possession. But over the next few days, as she recovered her strength, a plan began to form in her mind.  
  
The family, who had taken them in, was kind and seemed very popular in the community for they entertained many visitors. Sophia noticed that they often held quiet conferences out in the barn. One night, when her curiosity got the best of her, she hid behind the barn and strained to hear the heated debate going on inside.  
  
Those within spoke of revolution, freedom, and a leader named Ivan. Sophia's blood quickened with terror and excitement. She longed to help, she felt that her hour of vengeance was at hand, she buried all feelings of fear and boldly opened the barn door.  
  
"You need my help." She proclaimed in a quietly confident voice.  
  
Some were startled others skeptical, after all she was married to the enemy! The room erupted in commotion and chaos.  
  
"GREAT she'll turn us in for sure!"  
  
"Daniel I warned you, you should have left them where you found them!"  
  
"I knew it, I knew, we'll all be killed for sure, oh I KNEW IT!"  
  
Amidst the angry shouts, Daniel silently studied their intruder, without words he sensed her sincerity and something else he couldn't quite define.  
  
He had watched Sophia and her daughter over the past few days. One could plainly see that they were close, clinging to each other for dear life. They seemed so warm and delightful, but there was always something else hidden beneath their sweet smiles. They were unlike other royal family members who had intruded upon them before; they were gracious and thankful, very undemanding. They seemed almost too grateful, and in no hurry to leave.  
  
This fact had puzzled Daniel. Why would the wife and daughter of a man in power wish to stay in a humble cottage? But as he studied her now he knew the truth, the answer was in his own question; they longed for freedom as much as everyone else did in that room.  
  
He could see it in her eyes, she had lived in fear, for her life, and for Stasia's life; she was desperate, but more than that, she was determined. If they were to fail in their attempt, or even refuse to allow her to help, she would do it herself; she was just offering them the privilege of her assistance, all of the sudden he knew he'd rather have her as an ally.  
  
"ENOUGH!!!"  
  
The room fell silent and all eyes turned to Daniel, "She can help us, she WILL help us!"  
  
And that was that. She and Daniel came up with a plan; she promised to return to the palace, and help them bring down the Mongolian dynasty from within, if they promised to hide and protect her daughter. Stasia would reclaim her last name, and with it begin a new life, start a new heritage for the Derevko family. The deal was made, and mother and daughter were ripped apart.  
  
"Why!?! Mother please take me with you, I can HELP! I'll help you!"  
  
"No my love, I can only do what I have to do if I know you are safe and well, it is for you I am doing this, for us, so we can be free, I want you to be free and happy, promise me you will."  
  
"NEVER! I will always hate him for this, and if you don't kill him I WILL, I'll kill them ALL!!!"  
  
The violent words coming out of her precious daughter's mouth sent a chill throughout her entire body. Sophia stood stunned watching Stasia run away into the field. She had lost her, physically, emotionally, and worst of all she feared she had crushed her spirit forever.  
  
This possibility was more devastating to her than the job that was before her. She told herself that the quicker she completed her mission, the quicker she could return and repair the damage that was done.  
  
So she left, returned to hell to set the captives free. One wonders if she would have gone, had she known she would never see her daughter again. That in the end Stasia would run away to assist in the revolution, offering her experience and expertise; continuing the life of lies that her mother had unintentionally started.  
  
And time passed by. 


	4. They part 2

~~ The Passing of Time ~~  
  
"They - part 2"  
  
  
  
- Oh and I'm not going to get too detailed with my theories of Rambaldi, because it's flawed and confuses even me, besides this fanfic is already turning into a novel, and would go on forever if I tried to go in depth!  
  
-OKAY folks, here it is, the LAST part of the PAST!!!  
  
  
  
~ By 1480, Rome had heard the news that their neighbors to the north had finally freed themselves from almost 200 hundred years of tyranny. They had a new leader, lovingly called Ivan the Great, who had led his people to victory. There were also rumors of others whose roles were far less visible yet extremely vital to the salvation of the Russian nation.  
  
The most popular myth was that of a spy within the household of a powerful leader, what made this particular story interesting was that the mole was supposedly the oppressor's own wife. While many believed she had turned traitor to her Russian heritage, in the end many realized they owed their lives to her clever bravery.  
  
Unfortunately, the story could never be proven, for she had disappeared; some feared that she had perished in her palace that had mysteriously burned to the ground after all the men had passed out from drinking. Others held on to hope that she had escaped. Regardless, Sophia became a nameless, faceless hero and inspiration in the fight for freedom.  
  
Soon after the reformation, Ivan desired to marry the sister of Basil and Constantine, the duel leaders of Constantinople, which was widely considered to be the second Rome. In order to earn his bride he agreed to convert to Christianity, and encouraged all of his fellow Russians to do the same. A great spiritual, educational, and cultural revival spread throughout the entire land that had missed out on the Renaissance. Many great minds and creators traveled to the heart of Russia to share their knowledge and abilities. [If you are wondering, this is factual according to my Russian professor!]  
  
By this time Milo had grown bored with his theories and research, but if truth be told, he had scared himself with one of his experiments, which resulted in bazaar illusions and visions of people and places he had never seen before. He felt a need for an escape from the weird world he had created; the problem was that he could never escape his own mind.  
  
However, he COULD escape the citizens of Rome, who were beginning to turn on him and his blasphemously bazaar theories. So he and his friend Giovanni Donato, (who had joined him as an assistant in Rome, after Alicia passed away) along with his son Michelangelo Donato (who looked more like Milo than Giovanni) set out to journey through Russia.  
  
They stayed at the palace of Ivan the Great for months and, like he had done in his youth, Milo managed to impress the royalty of the court with his masterful skill in drawing and craftsmanship. Milo was adored, yet Michelangelo was loved even more for his equal ability, youthful good looks, and contagious personality.  
  
Milo was tempted to feel pride, but he knew that although Michelangelo had inherited his abilities and brilliance, it was his upbringing by Giovanni and Alice that created such a kind, caring, compassionate, humble, and approachable young man. He truly seemed flawless, until she arrived.  
  
She swept into the grand hall in all her majesty; followed by an entourage that looked more like an army and she their general, despite her regal gown and tapestry of curls. She didn't speak and looked only at Ivan. She did nothing to draw attention to herself, and yet all eyes were riveted on the queen-like creature that had graced them with her presence.  
  
The court announcer finally found his voice and proclaimed "Anastasia Derevko!"  
  
Michelangelo was mesmerized and watched her every move. Annoyed and impatient, by the attention she was receiving, she quickly passed by the throne and entered a door to the left. He watched as the Tsar slipped away, once the room had resumed its activities. His curiosity got the better of him and he slipped outside to the adjoining balcony to observe the group in the garden below.  
  
They seemed to be in a heated debate, one that ended with the Tsar storming off in frustration and leaving the mysterious Anastasia with an expression of regretful victory. She dismissed her men and began to walk towards the river. Michelangelo was intrigued; he ran back into the great hall, grabbed his paper and pencils and went in search of the one who had just stolen his heart, he was determined to retrieve it and her in the process.  
  
He came to a stop at the sight of her, sitting on the shore, watching the river slowly pass by. He approached quietly, or so he thought.  
  
"I thought I said I wanted to be alone!" She said in quiet determination.  
  
"I'm sorry milady they didn't make THAT announcement," he smiled at his own attempt at humor. But she was unimpressed, and before he could blink in one graceful swift move, she stood up and faced her intruder, with her knife revealed and ready to use in self defense.  
  
He was stunned, but not speechless "Nervous!?! Relax, I'm just an artist, the worst I can do is draw a terrible portrait of you."  
  
No response, he was learning that his charm didn't work on everyone. What he didn't know was that he WAS having an effect on her, typically she would have fought first and asked questions later.  
  
"Of course, that would require me actually drawing your picture," he dared to continue, and watched her lower the dagger and slowly turn back to the waters, sinking to the ground.  
  
His heart sank with her, and longed to ease whatever pain that was holding her prisoner. He joined her on the bank, sitting slightly in front of her, and began to draw. They sat in silence and he worked quickly; but every time he looked up, to observe her, he grew increasingly concerned.  
  
"There, all done."  
  
He held it up for her inspection but her eyes didn't even glance in his direction.  
  
"Don't you want to inspect my work?"  
  
In a voice lacking the passion her presence produced, she replied unemotionally, "No, I don't look at myself, I wouldn't even recognize the girl in your drawing."  
  
Sensing she had shocked him, she turned to stare into his eyes, looking for signs of shock, but what she saw shook her to the core. It wasn't pity, false concern, or even horror, but honesty, acceptance of whatever shocking thing she might say, and worst of all she saw comfort, and safety. But she refused to break down in front of this stranger, no matter how comforting his green eyes were!  
  
Rising to the challenge, Michelangelo returned the unwavering stare, hoping to look through her eyes and straight to her soul. What he saw there was a mixture of sadness and hopelessness, defeat and despair. Outwardly, she seemed so young, beautiful, and confidant; the outside was nothing more than a pretty painting that covered up an intricately woven canvas of secrets and a past that was obviously filled with much pain.  
  
Something inside of him awoke, he had never felt so desperate to reach someone, so full of purpose; he wanted to save this girl's soul, to set her free, but knew full well he was incapable of doing so.  
  
"Sir, thank you for your company but I am sure there are much more interesting and lively people up at the palace with whom you could converse."  
  
"It's very kind of you to look out for my social well being, but I find the company much more interesting out here!"  
  
Stasia smirked at this sappy line that he obviously genuinely meant, "Don't waste your charm on me, I have no heart, therefore I will not be loosing it to you!"  
  
"How can it be that you have NO heart, for you have stolen mine, but if you are in need of one that badly, please keep it!"  
  
He had meant it as a joke, but something in his remark had sent Stasia back into her seriously silent revelry.  
  
"I was only joking, but you DO need it don't you? A heart I mean."  
  
"Time, that's what I need."  
  
"You are young, beautiful, and can clearly command a room; time should be the least of your worries. Whatever ever time you DO have, I'm certain it will be well spent."  
  
"Wishful thinking by the innocently ignorant, it is not the future I long for, but the past. Time is like this river, powerful, steady, constant, yet always changing, always flowing. It goes around all obstinate obstacles, leaving them behind, and carries away the weak."  
  
"And which are you, stubborn or yielding?"  
  
"Both, I am stuck in a life that is out of my control! Perhaps if I could begin again, start over, knowing the outcome, knowing,,,"  
  
"What is there to know? Perhaps you SHOULD look at my drawing and see the woman you are!"  
  
"The woman I am? Do you presume to know who I am, what I've done? Do not let this gown and my curls fool you, I am not the daughter of royalty, Sir; I do not live a life of leisure, but of secrets and lies. My life is a lie. And truth takes time, but time is the ONLY thing that I cannot seem to control. Perhaps I never will."  
  
Despite the seriousness of the moment, Michelangelo chuckled, "You sound like Milo, obsessed with time, determined to master it!"  
  
"You speak of Rambaldi, I am familiar with his work, do you know him!?!"  
  
This startled Michelangelo out of contemplation; it wasn't WHAT she had said as much as HOW she said it. In her eyes, flames had replaced ice, and he now wondered which was worse. Thankfully, he never got the chance to find out; one of her men chose that very moment to call her away to urgent business. And he was left pondering the dangerous desperation he saw in the eyes of the most dangerously beautiful woman he had ever met.  
  
She was gone, as quick as she had come, and Michelangelo was tempted to believe she was only an apparition, but the rumors that continued for weeks after her departure, confirmed his suspicion; Anastasia Derevko was definitely not a force to be reckoned with.  
  
The more he heard, about her ruthlessness, her wrath, and destructive determination, the more he was worried by her interest in Rambaldi and his studies. He tried to bury his growing concern for a woman that he would most likely never see again. She haunted him, her eyes, her emptiness, and her quest for immortality.  
  
Eventually, he found the courage to express his concern to Milo, and when he saw his reaction, he wished he had done so earlier. Milo, began to rant and rave, about his visions, and something called the circumference. He spoke of blasphemous success. As he and his father listened to the confessional Rambaldi, they learned of his research before they arrived, and a particular experiment that unfortunately worked. Although it could be a wonderfully positive thing, in the wrong hands it could potentially "render" what Milo considered to be "the greatest power," time, "unto utter desolation."  
  
They vowed to each other, and all humanity, to prevent Anastasia Derevko, and all those who would follow her, from obtaining Rambaldi's works. They would return to Rome, from there Michelangelo would follow specific instructions given by Rambaldi to hide his journal and other important instruments all over the world, with hopes of discouraging any "seekers."  
  
Immediately, they set out for Rome. On their way home, they stopped at a village on the river, to sleep and replenish supplies. They went to the local monastery for a safe place to stay. Like all Christian buildings in Russia at the time, it still looked new and fairly unused. They were welcomed by a young minister, who showed them to their rooms and then to the dining hall.  
  
They sat at the far end of the table, next to the young man who had let them in, too preoccupied with their meals to notice the woman who joined them. But as she quietly walked into the room, Milo felt something deep in his soul, something he hadn't felt since he was three years old, something he could barely even remember.  
  
He looked up to look at the instigator of a feeling he couldn't even describe. Her hair fell in long cascading curls around her shoulders, and despite the speckles of frost; it still looked of golden chestnuts. She sat like a queen, but with eyes down cast focused on the task at hand. Her silence was depressing, and while she looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment, she also had peaceful serenity about her, as if she had accepted the lot she had been given.  
  
Milo, found his voice and questioned their host, "who is that?"  
  
The young priest followed his gaze and replied "we don't know, a week after we opened our doors, she showed up and with pleading eyes simply said 'sanctuary?' and she hasn't spoken since. She's a great helper though; she earns her keep, but seems to be in a another world most of the time. If she's not working or here eating, she spends her time in the chapel, starting at the cross or on her knees in prayer."  
  
Milo, absorbed all this information, and kept his attention on his muse until she walked out of the room. Then he quietly excused himself and followed to her sanctuary.  
  
He stopped at the entrance, in awe. He had seen the most magnificent cathedrals in the world, he lived in the Vatican; yet he had never been overwhelmed by the powerful presence of God, as he did in that moment, and he hadn't even ENTERED the humble, plain, wooden room yet.  
  
He quietly observed the angelic creature on her knees before the cross. The room was dark save a light coming from a single window, whose rays rested upon the weeping woman, for as he dared to draw near he could hear her sobs. When he moved quietly closer still he heard her pleas.  
  
"Lord have mercy, have mercy on my child, I praise you for the grace you granted me, please do the same for my daughter, save her from herself!"  
  
His curiosity got the best of him, "angel of whom do you speak?"  
  
Startled she turned around in surprise with instinctively downcast eyes, and determined silence. As she raised her eyes he gasped, and saw what he could not from a distance, a familiar face, and he spoke for her "Anastasia Derevko."  
  
This surprised her even more than his intrusion, "you know of her, you've seen her, is she well!?!"  
  
The broken woman before him, broke Mill's own heart, he wanted to lie, but somehow he knew she had had enough lies to last two lifetimes. "I fear she is not, she lives a life of lies, many fear her wrath."  
  
The woman before him began to weep, and sank to the ground forced prostrate by, what appeared to Milo to be, an invisible force. She looked as though she carried the wait of the world and he desperately wanted to take it from her. Like a guilty man, he knelt down before her "Forgive me, dear lady, I should not have spoken so honestly."  
  
At this she looked up through her tears and slightly chuckled and confirmed his earlier suspicion, "Sir, I have had had enough lies for two lifetimes! Besides, I already knew the truth, I have heard the rumors myself, I have even tried to reach her, but she never stays in one place long enough, I always run out of time."  
  
In a matter of moments this woman had managed to steal his heart, and he knew he would give her the world if she asked for it, but that he did not have. Time, on the other hand, that he had mastered, and dared to offer her all of his secrets. "If it is time that you want, I can give it to you, would you like to begin again, KNOWING the outcome, or live forever having plenty of time to right your wrongs!?!"  
  
It seemed so simple to him, a simple solution to her incredibly difficult problem.  
  
"You speak blasphemy Milo Rambaldi," she replied in a compassionate voice free of judgment.  
  
"You know my name? Please tell me yours!"  
  
"My name is Sophia Derevko, and your reputation precedes you, you are a man of great knowledge, but you lack wisdom, He will give it to you if you ask."  
  
"He?"  
  
"Our creator, the ONLY one who controls time, no matter what you do to change it, He is STILL in control! Besides, why would I wish to relieve the past, even if I could change it, I would not wish to; for it has brought me to Him, and I would not trade His presence in my life for a million lifetimes."  
  
Had she not said it so humbly he would have been more hurt, but he was mesmerized by her, and replied in his defense, "The greatest power is time, and he who controls IT has the ultimate control."  
  
"Oh no, Milo, 'these three remain faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.' Love Milo; THAT is the greatest power in THIS world or any other. Time is changing, love is constant, 'it never fails'. Love is what my daughter needs, but I failed to teach her that, I taught her to hate and that bitterness and revenge would save her. But it can't Milo, only love can save her now, selfless love, sacrificial love. But she lives in bitterness and hate. Hate, that is love's greatest enemy, if her anger is not prevented I fear hate will rule in her heart and have its shattering affect on all those around her. But I live in hope Milo, I know God hears my prayers and He will answer, in His own way, in His own time."  
  
He felt as in a trance, as if he had just heard the tongues of angels, and the very voice of God. It was evident she had LIVED through much pain, and had CAUSED much pain, and yet she seemed at peace. And he saw it now she DID glow but it wasn't from the window's light, it was from within.  
  
"Milo, I grow weary of this world, and long for my home, I know that in truth I cannot save my daughter, and may never get the chance to tell her of true love. Milo, in time she will no the truth, but it may be like it was for me, and too late for those who come after her. If you want to make a difference in time, promise me this, that you will find a way to protect her, from herself. Love is the only thing that can save her from her own hate and anger, and if it can save HER, there is hope for the rest of the world!"  
  
She left him then, to contemplate all she had said. He starred at the empty spot she had filled, and felt a great void, he was frantic and looked upwards, and saw the cross, and the truth of her words began to fill up the empty spot in his soul, and he began to weep tears of joy. Then looked down and picked up a long strand of hair that Sophia had obviously left behind, and as he starred at it, his mind began to work.  
  
When the weary travelers finally returned to Rome, Milo, Giovanni, and Michelangelo devoted themselves to the completion of Milo's journal and concluded his works, binding them up, for he knew it was no mistake he had been given these gifts, and that they could someday be used for good.  
  
With detailed instructions Michalangelo and Giovanni set out to see the world and hide Rambaldi's treasures. Before they left the three huddled together, knowing it would most likely be the last they ever saw of each other. Rambaldi retrieved a small box and spoke softly, "Giovanni your are my greatest friend, and you will live an exceptionally long life, live it well and think of me fondly. Michealangelo, you are the son I never dared to have, so I give you this."  
  
He opened the box and revealed a strange contraption; it was a clock, but none like anyone had ever seen before, it was small and look as if it were attached to some sort of bracelet. "It is a watch that goes on your wrist, so that you can not easily loose it. You can set your heartbeat to it. Despite our attempts to prevent destruction caused by Anastasia, she has started a heritage of hate that will continue throughout the ages. We must start a heritage of love that will ultimately stop it. I have created this watch to stop at the sight of her, and her descendants."  
  
He noticed their skeptical looks and replied, "don't look at me that way, I AM a genius after all, might as well put it to good use! You must pass it on to your own son, and he his, and so on and so on, until the day their paths cross again. He must watch out for her, protect her, from herself, and outside forces that would evoke her wrath, but most of all he must love her!"  
  
With that they parted. By the time they finished securing his contraptions around the world, Milo had died alone and rejected by the citizens of Rome, but he no longer feared time, or his absence from it, and welcomed death as the true entrance into eternity.  
  
Giovanni, returned to Parma and lived an unusually long life, just as Milo had predicted. His last sight was the face he had seen in Russia many years earlier.  
  
Michelangelo, settled in France, and married a "good person" who gave him a son. And to that son he gave his watch with telling of its importance and the responsibility that came with it.  
  
And so time passed on, as did the watch, for hundreds of years, from father to son, each trying to tell what their father had told them. But somewhere along the line, the whole story got lost, and was forgotten; the only thing that remained was its ability to be set to one's heart. But even that stopped, on Oct. 1, 2001, when it entered HER presence!  
  
TBC  
  
(cheesy, a flawed I know, but I STILL believe their relationship has a Rambaldi significance even if it's not my interpretation! I'm not finished either, I have the PRESENT, and FUTURE, coming soon to a fanfic near YOU!!!)  
  
- Also, I used the NIV version, and the love chapter from 1 Corinthians! 


End file.
